


Spicy Boyfriend

by goresmores



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Depression, Fluff, M/M, Male Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Marital Contemplation, Shiro also gets handsy and it's spicy, Shiro's dick is lasagna - Freeform, Smoking & Drinking - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 02:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11980143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goresmores/pseuds/goresmores
Summary: A relationships study from Shiro's POV in a nonspecific AU. Shiro's thinking about asking Lance to marry him, so he spends time considering their relationship to help decide whether he can go through with it or not.





	Spicy Boyfriend

**Author's Note:**

> the longer i think abt shiros dick being lasagna the more embarrassed i get bc my writing process is chaos and i have no idea what im doing pretty much ever so theres some trivia no one asked for
> 
> the title is just bc i couldnt think of anything pretentious enough, so i used the title to one of shawn wasabi's songs where the lyrics are literally just "i love you so so so much" which is applicable to the fic youre about to read, yall dodged a bullet on angst w/ this one! wipe that sweat off your brow or w/e
> 
> also!! i used to have the pseud thatdankkoushi, but ya boy here is sportin a fresh look!

Relationships have two sides: what everyone else sees, and then its barest form, private, and protected from the public.

This is true for friends, family and partners.

In the case of Lance and Shiro, what people usually saw was Lance, clingy and loud and dirty when it came to his boyfriend.

In front of others, Lance had a tendency to drape himself all over Shiro, quite dramatically, and be almost as affectionate as possible. In a way, this was because he loved to flaunt the fact that he was dating the man he loved. In another, it was because he was jealous. It was hard to think Shiro was single when Lance was practically an accessory, and Lance liked it that way. No one but Lance really knew it, but so did Shiro.

But he went through phases, Lance did. Sometimes he felt gross about it, insecure, and uncomfortable with how others perceived him, and then he'd tone it down. Would sit fairly quietly at Shiro's side, on his phone and out of any conversation that was happening because it was quiet time. Isolation time. “Not-make-a-fool-of-myself o’clock,” as he called it. 

He was more serious during these times. Fairly stoic, legs crossed, phone up—withdrawn. If you needed his help, though, he was there. Naked in a way he often wasn't, because it was when the jokes and nonchalance were put aside and he tackled the problem head-on. He was tactful. Sweet. Softer. But more vulnerable. Easy—and sometimes quick—to break down and cry.

Shiro was assured numerous times that Lance was fine, it was just a mood he needed to get passed and then he'd be jolly as a mall Santa during Christmas. And sure enough, he would get back into his usual groove and be who he usually presented himself to be.

One thing Shiro enjoyed about Lance at the peak of his groove was that he made bars fun.

He'd spend hours working his magic on his face and choosing the right outfit, and then he'd help Shiro too. Not that Shiro _needed_ the help, but Lance was happy to give it regardless, and Shiro didn't really mind either way.

In the car, he'd take selfies to put on snapchat, would snuggle up against Shiro as he did so, and even after. He'd crack jokes and insist their friends turn up the volume when a good song came on and brought life to their group.

It wasn't dead without him, but it was easy to note how different the air of things was when he wasn’t there. Maybe Shiro was biased, though, being in love with him as he was. After all, work was, despite being a regular and _familiar_ part of his day, always lacking to him just because Lance wasn't beside him. A juvenile feeling, he figured, but one that was hard to overlook, even for as often as he felt it.

But clubs were different. Before Lance, Shiro didn't really dig the club scene. He'd really only thought of it as a place to drown out the bad shit with alcohol and thumping bass and maybe hook up, if you were into that sort of thing, but after Lance started dragging him along, it became sitting at a table. Noticing things. Trying new drinks, “girly” or not. Dancing together when the right song came on. Enjoying the company of his drunk friends, excluding their poor designated driver, Hunk, and getting familiar with Drunk Lance.

Drunk Lance was… weirdly hot.

Maybe a little annoying sometimes, because he tended to whine, but mostly hot, if you gave him what he wanted.

He was genuinely clingy, possessive, and horny as hell, all things that appealed to Shiro, drunk or sober alike.

There was one time when Shiro had been left alone at the table while his friends danced and Lance went to take a piss, leaving him open to the drunk, and sometimes desperately flirty patrons.

Lance had come back, easily taken in the fact that Shiro was being flirted with, and then he'd made his way over, plopped himself down on Shiro's lap and started making out with him _right there_ in front of the lady who'd been flirting with him.

And Shiro? Well, Shiro kissed back.

Obviously getting the picture, and not getting an invitation to join in, the lady swayed off to some woman she spotted at the bar and started chatting her up.

Ah, the casualty of gay clubs.

But Shiro was more concerned with the lapful of Lance than he was with that woman's potential success.

When Shiro started to slide his hands down Lance's sides—his own drunken desire and lack of concern for what others saw in lieu of him and his boyfriend taking over—Lance shivered and pulled away, whiney.

“Shirooo don't do that. You're gonna make me hard, and I don't want to have sex in the restroom.”

“Why not at home, then?” He asked, hands stilled on his boyfriend’s hips. His fingers dug in just the slightest bit and he could both see and feel Lance shift in his lap at it, thighs clenching tighter and leveling out unevenly, kind of like how he imagined the subduction of tectonics plates would best play out when the plates were his boyfriend's shapely thighs.

At the movement, Shiro bit his lip and ran his left hand down from Lance's hip and towards his thigh, firmly grasping the flesh with the full expanse of his hand, and watching as the fat of it dipped under the pressure of his fingers.

 _Yeah,_ he decided, he needed his face between those as soon as possible.

“Too far away.”

True. That's why they usually drank at home, but on nights like this, they’d sometimes start riling each other up on the downlow in the backseat on the way their way back home.

Not that they really had much control over themselves, but through lessons learned, the couple tried to stay sober enough that could remember to be subtle about it, because if Lance whined or was too forward, Hunk and Pidge would notice, and being busted was a major boner killer, even though the friends were unfortunately familiar with how handsy the couple got when they were drunk. You didn't get to know two horny, exhibitionist drunks for years, with multiple visits to different clubs, and have the privilege of never figuring out just how much a pair of horny, exhibitionist drunks they could be. Especially when you were their ride home.

They were told on a few occasions by a few friends that they were about as vulgar as you could get without genuinely having some form of sex in public.

Drunk, it rolled right off. Sober, well… they were so red in the face they could have cartoonishly had the heat of their embarrassment shoot out of their ears.

It was a wonder Hunk and Pidge still took them to clubs at all, really.

Lance rested his head on Shiro's shoulder and let an arm dangle behind Shiro's back.

Maximum drapage.

“You’re too hot,” Lance said, simply.

“Really? I feel kind of cold.” Shiro knew good and well Lance meant his looks, and the fact that they were what had attracted that woman, but he said it anyways, cracking a grin.

Lance groaned. “You're the worst.” He poked at Shiro's chest, “The absolute worst. Too cheesy. You're like a bad lasagna.”

Shiro snickered. Bad lasagna? That was new.

“Lasagna is hot,” Shiro pointed out.

“Not if you put it in the fridge.”

“I don't think I'd fit in the fridge.”

Lance made a considerate noise and let his finger swirl on Shiro's chest during his pause, before finally, he said, “My ass is the fridge?”

“I definitely fit in your ass,” he agreed.

“Yeah you do,” Lance giggled drunkenly.

Shiro let out a humored breath and gave Lance a kiss on the cheek. “You wanna see if the others are ready to go?”

“Yeah. I wanna put the lasagna in the fridge.” Lance hopped out of his lap, took a second to steady himself and make sure he wouldn't fall over and then started wading through the crowd to find Hunk and Pidge.

Shiro, meanwhile, chugged the last of his scotch and set the glass down on the table.

Based on that, Lance was probably too drunk to keep it subtle in the backseat, so it'd be falling on Shiro to keep him at bay until they made it home.

Despite that, though, it had been a good night.

But Lance made a better microwave. He was far too hot to cool down Shiro's lasagna.

 

On the flipside of things, away from the public eye, Lance was different.

He was more comfortable. Not really quieter, but he had his moments. His actions felt less desperate and more relaxed.

His clinging was softer. Less dangle and more wrapped up at night, with the lights off and a leg tossed over Shiro's hip-thigh area. Oversized hoodies, boxer shorts and tube socks. He was messy. And it was gorgeous.

He worked so hard to look good for people outside the doors of their apartment, but at home, Shiro loved the sleep-mussed hair, the morning breath, the groggy, constipated look Lance usually woke up with, and the way he slumped around like he'd rather be doing literally anything else but walking.

It's part of why Shiro took up scooping Lance into his arms whenever he got slumpy. It was worth it because Lance let out a high-pitched noises of surprise and mini-yells each time, without fail. He clung to Shiro even though he knew Shiro would never drop him, and different scooping conditions meant different moments post-scoop.

Sometimes, Shiro would scoop him up and Lance would play dead, so Shiro had to revive him with kisses all over—sometimes he opted for a raspberry instead. There were times when Shiro scooped him, and after the shock, Lance would wrap his arms around Shiro's neck, look him in the eyes with this look, like he had all the love in the world in that right there in his eyes, and then he'd lay one on Shiro. Other times he'd scoop Lance up and he'd be very obviously sad, but that was okay, because it was a good chance to make use of Shiro's putting down abilities.

He'd set his boy down on the couch, grab a blanket or two and sufficiently comf the couch for a movie and let the time pass however it would, whether they actually watched or not. It was enough that the setting was common between them and there was no real obligation. They could play on their phones, sleep, watch or whatever else it was they felt like doing. Their friends seemed to think it was an odd solution, but it worked for them, and that's all that mattered in the end.

While there were ways that they overlapped, in comparison to Lance, Shiro was more nonchalant in public.

Pidge had once compared him to a pimp, in the way that Lance draped himself over Shiro and Shiro seemed fairly indifferent about it. Just wrapped an arm around Lance and went about his conversations with others.

He got the comparison after a few examples, but there was a fundamental difference: the pimps seemed to really _be_ that nonchalant. Shiro, however, was just weird about PDA. He was selective and specific.

While the club was its own situation, the extent of what he would allow usually dropped off hand-holding and drapage. Lance draped regardless of location, but Shiro didn't usually mind, and if he did, he spoke up and Lance respected that. Same for hand-holding. Kissing wasn't a street activity, in his opinion, but he'd give a cheek kiss goodbye when appropriate.

Otherwise, yeah, he was nothing like Lance. He kept his distance and let Lance do whatever he wanted within reason.

But at _home_ he was more like Lance was in public. He was relaxed, not tense under the gazes of everyone in public, and he was significantly more handsy.

If you asked Lance, he'd tell you Shiro couldn't keep his hands off, which wasn't really an exaggeration, even for as much exaggerating as Lance was known for.

So, yeah, he was definitely handsy. The scooping, cuddling, wrapping his arms around Lance in the morning when the other was cooking, sometimes pestering Lance to shower together, and then, of course, the _sex_.

He valued being close, because of the fact that he spent so much time feeling weird about it. He was making up for lost time and making the most of opportunity. Lance didn't mind, and really, they seemed to thrive off of the mutual appreciation for being all over each other when they had the chance.

They took care of each other on their bad days and laughed through the good ones.

It often went overlooked because of the way Shiro held himself on good days and—unlike Lance—avoided the world outside his house like everyone had the plague otherwise, but Shiro had his own depression to deal with. Not the worst case in the world by any means, but it could be a struggle, especially when it often expressed itself more as misdirected anger than Lance's type of anxiety-driven sadness. Lance wasn't an exception to this anger, at times, but he had a definite advantage over most people, save for Keith, who he was about neck-and-neck with.

Since he holed up as much as he could and wasn't quick to anger on his better days, a lot of people didn't know he had issues with it, but when he did, he had an aversion to touch, as it irritated him, and he had trouble training his expression to show he was anything other than annoyed beyond belief when interacting with others.

That was why Shiro smoked at home, out on the balcony of their apartment.

Lance didn't like it, but it helped calmed him down, and as long as he promised not to make it an everyday habit, Lance could brush it aside.

He'd been suggested a therapist, but Shiro only shrugged off the suggestions, not really digging the whole baring his soul to a stranger for guidance thing. He had friends who he already trusted for that, not to mention that Hunk was an undergrad psychology major. Not a professional, obviously, but a good dude, and Hunk could pick Shiro apart all he wanted while he just let all of Hunk's ramblings wash over him.

Was it smart, or the perfect set-up? Anyone could probably tell you it was actually pretty shitty, but Shiro also didn't care, and liked things the way they were. If he felt he needed one, or was given a solid reasoning for it, he'd look into making the switch, but until he actually crested some peak, he was fine. He hadn't broke anything, hit anyone, and he did good on apologizing if he ever snapped at someone, which was fairly rare in and of itself, so he saw no real reason for a therapist.

But in his ramblings, Hunk was sometimes worried some sort of unhealthy co-dependency would settle in between Lance and Shiro, but the couple proved they could easily exist independent of each other when needed. Lance had once told his friend, “Shiro isn't necessary, he's just preferred. You don't have to worry so much, big guy.”

And yeah. That was it. Not necessary, but preferred. Hence the emptiness of work without Lance, but the fact that he could, and did, go to work every day, regardless of Lance's absence at his side.

In the darkness of their room, already more than two years into their relationship, they discussed how they'd feel and what they would do if they ever broke up.

“I told my mom once, that I'd rather work than cry about a breakup. She said I could only say that because I'd never been in love before, and because I didn't understand that crying was a necessary part of the process.” Lance grabbed for Shiro's hand, and Shiro laced their fingers together as he continued, “I guess she's right, that crying is necessary. But I also still feel like, if we broke up, I'd cry when I needed to, but I would still rather work. I just… can't get tears in the batter.”

Shiro's thoughts immediately went to how, a lot of the times, in fiction, a character would allow themselves fall out completely. Miss work, sob, eat ice cream and drop so low that people started to worry about them to the point they had to be dragged out of the house or whatever. That's definitely what Shiro knew _he_ wanted to avoid.

Shiro gave a light, airy snort and said, “I can't get tears on my lecture notes either, but yeah. That makes sense. I've broken up before. Everything I did while I dated them was a rush at the time, but everything I'd loved during it felt like a regret afterwards. The kisses, the deep talks… It's worse when you think it's gonna last, and then it's over and you start realizing all the reasons it was destined to fall through.”

Lance hissed inwardly, “Yikes. That's a harsh take.”

Shiro nodded, but Lance couldn't see him in the dark.

“You've dated before, though,” Shiro acknowledged.

“Mm,” Lance agreed, “But they were non-committal relationships. I didn't care whether it worked out or not with any of them. If they did, great, if not, hey, cool, whatever. On to the next one. I didn't care until Nyma.” Lance his grip, “And then, well… you know the story. I _wanted_ it to work but my feelings were forced, blah blah blah, she dumped me. All I got from that was a nine month gap between dating because I wasn't ready to go again, but it wasn't sad, y’know? Just sobering.”

Shiro rubbed his thumb across the skin of Lance's hand in silent understanding.

It was because of reasons like the moments of love turning into regret that made Shiro hesitant when it came to dating and falling in love, and especially marriage. But Lance had this feeling to him. Almost in a way that drew him in. He'd never felt that way about someone before. But now, two years later, he was seriously considering a proposal.

It was the way they loved the other, their dynamic, the honeymoon phase-esque desperation to love Lance with everything he had even after all this time together, and the way that Lance returned that when they looked at other—when they touched and fucked and made love and even just when he knew the day was done and that it was finally time to come home; knowing that meant the comfort of their bed, and his arm around Lance as they fell asleep, the absolute _peace_ he felt—it was almost enough to convince him.

Almost. But he fell short.

Shiro had never imagined himself to be one with commitment issues, but here he was.

He'd spent the day thinking about it. And the day before that. Weeks, now, after realizing it was something he could potentially see for them nearly a month or so ago. But all that time spent thinking, and what held him back? 

The fear of it all falling through.

Because sometimes love is like sand slipping through the cracks of your fingers, and never noticing until all that you can do is let what little is left drop from your palm and back with the rest. You could choose to scoop up more, and try to hold fast, or you could leave it.

He'd tried leaving it, but Lance had called to him, and now he was clenching tight, too afraid Lance was already slipping away without his knowledge.

But maybe asking Lance to marry him was his half of the leap.

Their meeting was beginning of what could only be an end, and Lance had initiated. Lept into the dark and only succeeded because Shiro had said yes. From that point on they'd been like two neutron stars on a collision course. They'd either combine into a larger neutron star or collapse into a blackhole, the same outcome of asking your recent friend out on a date—the very thing Lance had done—albeit with more to lose.

Shiro sighed into the darkness and turned to look at the moon, only halfway visible from the angle of their window.

He could also dip his toe into the idea. One proposal swapped for another.

He turned back from staring out the window, mouth open around the words as he figured what he could say in place of what he was too afraid to ask.

Instead of 'Will you marry me—?’

He held Lance’s hand tighter in his own.

“What about marriage?”

**Author's Note:**

> as always you can find me on twitter [@dogmemes420](https://twitter.com/dogmemes420)! 
> 
> bringin u dank voltron rts, shitposts like "i want young zarkon to slap me in the face w his dick" and some other stuff ig


End file.
